‘Well, thanks.’ I swirl a piece of toast around my plate to soak up bean juice.
Of course he would have come
, I tell myself sharply.
What makes you think you’re so special?
‘I think what happened last night confirms your suspicions that the photo was a threat,’ Nick remarks, nicking the rest of the toast from my plate and devouring it. I look up at him and find those piercing eyes locked on to mine, watching.
‘Why?’ I ask, but I already know the answer even as my mouth forms the question, and I nod slowly.
‘Whoever was in your house was trying to scare you.’
‘Maybe it wasn’t the same person. Maybe someone else knows I’ve been getting hassled. But then how would anyone know about the photo? You’re the only person we’ve spoken to, and I’m presuming you haven’t told anyone.’ Nick raises his eyebrows in a pointed no. ‘And I certainly haven’t.’
‘And are you sure . . .’ He lets the sentence trail off and I shake my head firmly.
‘Cassie hasn’t told anyone,’ I say in a tone that I hope warns him not to argue with me. ‘She knows how to keep a secret.’
Nick doesn’t look convinced. ‘How much can you actually trust her? After all, she’s a murderer, Susan.’
I try not to show my anger but my face flushes red, giving my fury away. ‘As am I, or had you forgotten?’
Nick looks embarrassed. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you.’
‘Cassie has been there for me since the day I got to Oakdale. I trust her as much as I trust myself. I’m not justifying our friendship to you or anyone else. You need to accept that she has done what she’s done, and it’s more than likely that so have I. I’ll understand if you don’t want to get involved in this any more.’
Nick shakes his head. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said what I did. I’ll try and be nicer to Cassie, although it’s pretty clear she doesn’t trust me one bit.’
‘She’s used to it being just the two of us. She’ll come round. She’s very protective of me.’
‘OK, I’ll be nice.’ Nick smiles. ‘So if we’re presuming that none of us told anyone else, then maybe you were overheard. Tell me again what you did after you got the photo.’
I repeat my exact movements from the minute I picked up the envelope until the time I met him yesterday. Nick listens intently, trying to figure out when someone might have discovered that I was poking around.
‘Did you speak to anyone at the library?’ he asks eventually.
‘No. Well, just to apply for a library card in my new name. I spoke to the counter lady, Evelyn, but I didn’t tell her what I was looking for.’
He looks thoughtful. ‘In that case I’d say it’s the same person who sent you the photo. Too many coincidences otherwise.’
‘And the phone call.’ The memory comes to me as though someone’s handed me a Post-it. How had I forgotten? But it didn’t seem like anything at the time; could it be something now?
‘What phone call?’
‘It was last week, right at the beginning, like Monday or Tuesday. The house phone went and I straight away thought it was a sales call. No one else calls my house phone. I don’t even know why I answered it.’
‘And who was it?’
‘No one. Well, almost no one. I thought it was a dead line, but then there was some house noise, like footsteps and a TV somewhere. Then there was a kid, I don’t know if it was a boy or a girl, shouted “Nanny” and it went dead. I thought it was a wrong number.’
‘Is that what you think now?’
‘I don’t know. What do
you
think?’
‘I want to say coincidence, but how many coincidences can happen to one person in two weeks? The article in your bag, the photo, your house, now this? I don’t know.’
I’m not too proud to admit that this scares me. When I received the photo, Cassie and I were quick to dismiss it as a prank; only for a minute did I consider it could be anything more sinister. Does someone really want to hurt me?
‘Do you think my phone’s been tapped?’
Nick looks impressed that I’ve thought of the possibility.
‘It’s something you have to think about. I mean, I don’t want to be dramatic, but the photo is a relatively harmless – albeit unpleasant – trick to play. Trashing your house? That’s escalated quickly. Maybe whoever it was knew you were meeting me.’
I sit back in my seat, the mug of tea warming my hands and providing a much-needed sugar kick. ‘The police officer I spoke to suggested that people round here wouldn’t want a child killer in their town. He’s probably right.’
Nick purses his lips sympathetically. ‘It does happen, I’m afraid. Some people hold grudges because they have nothing better to do with their lives. They might not know you from Adam, just what you did.’
My head is hurting again. It’s all a bit surreal for me. I don’t live in a world where things like this happen. This is my life, not boredom relief for some desperate housewife. I sigh and rest my head in my hands, covering my tired eyes. When neither of us has spoken for five minutes, I look up to check Nick is still there. He’s flipping through a notepad he already had out on the table when I arrived at the pub.
‘What’s that?’ I ask, too curious to stay quiet any longer. Nick holds out the pad for me to take. It’s a roughly scrawled chart, the word ‘Evidence’ written at the top of one column; another is headed ‘Follow up’. In the evidence column are four points: the photograph I received, the newspaper in my handbag, the disappearance of Dr Riley and the break-in at my house.
‘Wow, someone’s organised,’ I remark, unable to explain why this annoys me so much. ‘Let’s face it, it’s much more likely I sent the photo to myself because I’m still as crazy as the doctors said I was.’ I stop short at the look on his face. Guilt. Of course, how stupid am I? ‘You’ve already thought of that.’ It’s a statement, not a question. It doesn’t need to be a question; his face tells me all I need to know. ‘You think I did this. You think I’m crazy.’
‘It crossed my mind,’ he admits. ‘For about two seconds. I saw how upset you were about what happened at your house, Susan, and I know you didn’t fake that.’
‘How can you be so sure? You don’t know me, you don’t know anything about me.’ I’m taunting him, daring him to deny that I could be unhinged.
‘I just am.’ His eyes don’t leave mine for a second.
I’m too exhausted to argue. My mind is screaming for just one small white pill to take the edge off this feeling of helplessness. Maybe I have some left at home; there’s no way I can ask the doctor for more so early in my parole. I can’t admit I might not be coping.
When breakfast is done, I don’t think we can avoid going back to my house any longer, so I’m happy to hear him suggest we have a coffee in the pub garden.
‘Can I tell you something?’
He’s trying not to look too eager. What does he think I’m about to confess?
‘Of course, anything.’
Now I’ve said it, I can’t refuse to tell him. ‘I thought I saw Dylan yesterday.’
‘What? Where? You didn’t tell me this.’
‘I was embarrassed. There was a boy in the street in front of me and he looked so much like the boy in the photograph, I just thought . . . Of course he didn’t look anything like Dylan when I got up close, but from a distance, and I’d just seen the photo and . . .’
‘Hey, hey, calm down.’ My eyes are cast downwards and he dips his head to look into them. ‘You’d just had a shock: people make mistakes like that all the time. I used to think I saw . . . Everyone’s eyes play tricks on them.’
‘Maybe, but not everyone chases kids down the street and grabs them. I honestly believed it was Dylan. If I was wrong about that, if I can’t trust myself . . .’ My words tail off.
Nick stays quiet for a long time, then looks at me like there’s something he’s dying to ask.
‘Got any brothers or sisters?’ I don’t think that was it.
I smile. ‘How come you get to know everything about me and I know zero about you? Apart from the dubious choice of vocation.’
He leans back in his chair looking amused. ‘Well what do you want to know?’
‘Married?’ The question comes out too quickly and my cheeks burn. ‘Sorry, too personal.’
He holds up his ring finger. ‘Not married.’
‘Hmm, Cassie said that doesn’t mean anything.’
Nick frowns. He picks up a fork from the stone wall. It’s obviously been there a while; it’s rusty and dirt-encrusted. He looks like he’s studying it for the meaning of life, but I can’t see what’s so interesting. Finally he speaks. ‘What’s her problem anyway? Cassie, I mean. She’s so bloody suspicious, it’s like she thinks I’m going to run off with your life savings or something.’
That’d get you a bus ticket to Manchester.
‘I told you before not to worry about it. Cassie just doesn’t trust people. She’s like that with everyone.’
‘Wow, how flattering,’ Nick remarks. ‘Nothing special, eh?’
I grin despite my rotten mood. ‘She might seem all brassy highlights and F words, but she’s the best friend I’ve ever had. When you’re in a place like Oakdale you have to accept that your life as you knew it, your old friends, your old house, it’s all gone. You start to realise that the life you’ve been forced into doesn’t have to be anything like your old one.’ I let out a snort. ‘I can just imagine Mark’s face if I’d brought someone like Cassie home from mother and toddler group.’
He looks blank. Surely he doesn’t need me to spell it out for him? The press were all over it, the have-it-all Stepford Wife who killed her baby son. The worst thing was, they were spot on in most of the things they said about us.
‘Mark is loaded,’ I explain, my cheeks reddening again. ‘We ate at the best restaurants, I wore clothes once then threw them away – yes, I realise now how it sounds.’ He’s barely masking the disdain on his face but I don’t hate him for it. I know the person I used to be. ‘I wasn’t used to mixing with people like Cassie, her angry tirades and her forty-a-day habit. Then I went to Oakdale and for the first time in my life I was the lowest of the low, not someone to be mollycoddled and looked after. I didn’t have friends; no one wanted to be associated with a . . . with me.’
I’ve never spoken about my time at Oakdale with anyone, but Nick’s cool blue eyes have locked on to my face, and now I’ve started, I can’t stop.
‘Cassie was unlucky enough to be stuck in my room. She tried everything to make me talk. She lent me magazines and make-up – God knows why she was so keen to befriend me, but she wouldn’t give in. It wasn’t that I thought I was too good for her – that ship had long sailed. No, I didn’t think I was good enough, for her or anyone. I actually just wanted to be left alone to die.’
‘How did you get better?’
‘She kept at it. When the magazines and make-up didn’t work, she started smuggling me food. I wasn’t on a hunger strike exactly, but I didn’t have the energy or the inclination to get up to eat; I barely got up at all except to use the toilet. Every day Cassie would bring me food, but not from the cafeteria – chocolate bars, and sausage rolls. She always managed to get her hands on the best of everything. She had a deal going with the warders most of the time; sometimes other patients would help her out. One day the smell of a bacon sandwich was too much for me and while she wasn’t looking I just started to eat. I hadn’t even realised I was doing it until it was all gone. Cassie just winked at me. Ever since then, when the going gets tough, the tough get food.’
‘I had wondered,’ Nick laughed, ‘about the monstrous appetite.’
As he checks his watch and indicates that it’s time to leave, I realise that once again the conversation has switched around to me, and he’s managed to answer a grand total of one question in the time we’ve been out here. Either he’s deliberately avoiding talking about himself or he was an armchair psychologist in a past life.
14
Jack: 18 October 1987
He’d done a pretty good job, even if he did say so himself. Billy had finally emerged from his bathroom smelling like the aftershave counter at Boots and wearing an outfit that would have cost his own parents a week’s wages.
‘About fucking time. You want some of this?’ He poured a shot of vodka and held it out. Billy screwed up his nose.
‘Nah, I’m OK.’
‘Seriously?’ Jack laughed. ‘You nicked it and you’re not even going to drink it? Come on, don’t be a pussy.’ He shoved the drink towards his friend again, some of it sloshing on to his fingers. Billy took it, gave it a sniff.
‘Just knock it back, it’ll taste better the more you have,’ Jack promised.
Billy swung his head back and threw the drink down his throat. Jack laughed as he put his hand to his mouth, coughing and retching.
‘That’s the way,’ he said as there was a knock on the bedroom door. ‘C’min.’
Lucy’s face appeared in the doorway. From behind the door Billy made an obscene gesture that made Jack scoff. Poor lad wouldn’t know what to do with a girl like Lucy. He was fifteen, for fuck’s sake, and he’d never even kissed a girl. Ah well, maybe tonight was his night.
‘Your friends are downstairs.’ She eyed Jack suspiciously. ‘Have you been drinking?’
‘Yes. Do you want one?’
She moved further into the room, noticing Billy for the first time. ‘Oh, hey.’ Spotting the shot glass in his hand, she smiled. ‘Well, I’m impressed. Even Jack won’t shoot vodka.’
Billy widened his eyes at Jack, who shrugged unapologetically. ‘Tastes like shit. Come on, Shakespeare, let’s go.’
Jack moved to leave the room but Lucy stepped in front of him, blocking his way. She was close enough for him to smell her subtle flowery perfume. Even at three years younger he was at least two inches taller than her. ‘Aren’t you going to invite me to your party?’
‘I don’t need a chaperone, thanks.’ He reached out to place his hands on her waist, pulled her slightly closer then moved her to the side. ‘Come on, Bill.’
15
I hate the idea of seeing my house again, but I can’t live out of the Travelodge indefinitely. We stop at the police station to collect my keys and they confirm I can go back into the house. When we get back, there’s a figure sitting on the doorstep. Nick groans.